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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132623">Something to be Forgotten</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF, mcyt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Forgive Me, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Wilbur is kinda insane, grimdark...maybe, idk - Freeform, irl au but not really, phil is trying to be a good dad, techno is trying to be a good brother, tommy is sad and just wants his brother back, very angsty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:35:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>who knew Wilbur would try to kill his little brother<br/> </p><p>TW: mentions of violence, gore, death and insanity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. mental</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The white tiles glimmered in the shimmering lights that engraved the ceiling. It was cold, so cold! Tommy peered up from the ground to glance at the lady at the front desk, she tapped her long nails on the keyboard, which sat in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All right, just go two halls down and to your right, you’ll see a door with 2-6-7 on it and Wilbur will be there,” the lady said with way too much delight for the occasion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank--thank you,” Tommy muttered under his breath as he took a keycard with a visitor’s tag from her. His brother Wilbur had been admitted to this mental institution for psychiatric rehabilitation a short while ago. There wasn’t much that they could do for him back home, and the hospital was his best chance. But rehabilitation didn’t come without its own share of trauma. None of us, thought Tommy, gets to choose the thing that fixes us. And the rather peppy ring under the lady’s voice at the front desk wasn’t convincing him of anything less. He called it a mental asylum, not a hospital. He was certain Wilbur would’ve scribbled a lyric calling it a loony-bin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The iron door with 2-6-7 shined under the intense light. The white beige didn’t help the already depressing look of the asylum, how did hospitals and clinics ever manage to make something as bright and base as beige feel oppressive? He swiped the keycard he was given. The door unlocked, and the sight nearly put Tommy to tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was Wilbur: His brother, his dearest friend, the very man who tried to kill him. He was in a straight-jacket with a ponderous, far-off stare; his face as vacant as the vacuum of space, abhorrent to any who heard his music before. What abyss was he gazing back at?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A man in a pale coat, made fluorescent under the lights, walked up to Tommy and offered something by means of an observation: “You must be Tommy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could only nod in reply, afraid to look away and risk Wilbur losing whatever strand of sanity he was holding with that stare.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid there hasn’t been much change. Wilbur hasn’t spoken since he got here. I’m afraid there just isn’t much he has to say other than the occasional crying and...” the doctor hesitated. “Giggling,” he ended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy could see how claustrophobic the room was, if it could be called a room. He could see the reddened spots around Wilbur’s eyes. He had been sobbing. Hysterical. Uncontrolled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides that, he’s been doing well, he hasn’t attempted to harm himself or others and hasn’t resisted anything. But he still has not shown any signs of recovering either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will he… will he ever get better?” Tommy’s usually harsh and chipper voice was dimmed down. He felt hatred. Towards Wilbur, towards himself. For letting him end up in such a place to begin with. He should’ve been there for him. Sure, Wilbur had done a lot of wrong things and hurt a lot of people, but he didn’t deserve this... did he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If things turn out good... then yes, he may regain some of his former self. But for now... he’s just... We... we’re just going to have to wait.” The man said with a doubtful tone. He offered a reluctant pat on Tommy’s shoulder before deciding to give them some time together. “Time is all we can give.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time is all that they had cost, thought Tommy. They had grown through so much in the past, their friendship was not bound by the same monotony of youth. There was no place on Earth too forbidding, no game too dangerous to dare, no world too impossible for them to capture in a song. They were kings together. They were rogues together. Reckless and patrons of fortune. Tommy always looked up to Wil, from the days he learned how to play the guitar from watching him. Everyone else had said no, but he had always kept asking and asking until Wil agreed and genuinely tried. There were moments in their lives that he wished now he could crawl back to and pull the Wilbur he saw in front him back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But that strand. The one that held Wilbur’s gaze, was the forbidding world. The kings and rogues and patrons of song and fortune now stood in fear, and he snapped back. And he smiled. And those listless eyes bore into Tommy with a tinge of hatred behind them that he knew came from scars too deep to ignore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><span>He wanted to run, Tommy did.</span> <span>He wanted to scream.</span></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>But nothing came out save one faint whimper. Wilbur was already intimidating with his tall stature and lifeless glare, but this... this was beyond terrifying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy—”  Wilbur giggled out with slight hiccups between words. The younger lad and the doctor both froze and stared at this deranged mockery of man that stood in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur, even in death cold state, knew he couldn’t maintain his balance but he tried to stand anyway but tripped and fell over his ankles, with his back sliding against the foam wall behind him. The movement was jarring and inhumane and he didn’t even try to get back up. He didn’t stop giggling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ye...yeah?” Tommy couldn’t be bothered to hide the anxiety in his voice. He knew Wilbur couldn’t hurt him in that state, but he was not above taking a few steps back just in case. The doctor looked on with awe, intrigued at the scene unfolding in front of him. Wilbur, his unresponsive patient for so long, had been stirred into verbalising his own traumas—inflicted by himself or others upon his psyche. Wilbur slid closer to his young brother and gave a wicked smile, one of only pure madness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor ushered Tommy away before locking the door “Best we should let him be, lad.” The boy was only sixteen years old; his brother, considerably older and one would assume more responsible, was lost to madness</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. suffocation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of fire could be heard as Tommy was washing the dishes. Every task to him felt like an eternity, anything to blot out the experience from the asylum. The soap suds swished around as the young lad rotated the plate. Tommy let out a sigh, and fully cleaned off the final plate before putting it back on the shelf.</p><p>Tommy towelled off his hand and walked back into the living room where his brother, Dave—well, everyone called him Techno, or “The Blade,” because of his great combat skills—was quietly reading a new paperback translation of <em> Hippolytus </em> by the Greek playwright Euripides. </p><p>Techno was never the type to be loud, or at least expressive, with his plans. Techno was quiet, closed off, and secretive—very different from Tommy. But he still somehow got along with the slightly intimidating potato enthusiast.</p><p>Techno always had a regal and elegant aura to him, especially with his long, dyed rosy-pink hair and hazel eyes, which appeared under a tinge of blue through his tinted glasses. The golden piercing on his elfen-ears shined in the ember light of the fireplace. Techno looked up from his book and gave Tommy the warmest smile he could possibly give him. He was never the affectionate type, but he tried his best when it came to Tommy.</p><p>“Hey...” Tommy said as he sat down next to Techno, and rested his head on the older man’s shoulders. Techno placed the golden lapel-bookmark on his resting page and put the book down. “Theseus again?” Asked the brother.</p><p>“Indeed. Labyrinths. Or life after them. This new translation emphasises the King of Athens and his life after escaping the Minotaur’s labyrinth. You’d like it.” Tommy didn’t forget how much his brother loved to escape into the lores of old.</p><p>“There were so many real labyrinths to escape right now.” The younger boy sighed, closing his eyes against Techno’s reassuring frame. All he wanted to do at this point was sleep and that’s exactly what he did.</p><p>“Indeed,” said the man. He turned to Tommy with a warm expression on his face, noting the younger boy’s tired face. </p><p>Tommy fell asleep right then and there on his brother's shoulders, just like when he did when he was much younger. He knew it would hurt once he woke up but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to get away from it all.</p><p>When he woke up a few hours later it was to the sound of his ringing phone. Tommy woke up with a start; scrambled to reach his phone; and sighed when he saw it was his dad—Phil—called him.</p><p>The young boy pressed ‘call-back’ and when the annoying calling sound had stopped he heard their father’s voice: “Hey, uh… Tommy. I called in to check up on you.”</p><p>“Hello, Phil.”<br/><br/>“Did anything weird happen when you visited Wilbur?”</p><p>“No… he… he is still in the same spot, Phil. You should have seen him. He was not himself. He was very… creepy and whatnot.” </p><p>“He didn’t hurt you did he?” </p><p>“No…” </p><p>“Okay, ah... good well. I’ll be working a bit late today, I’ll be back at 4 okay? Stay safe.” Phil hung up before Tommy could respond.</p><p>
  <em> “You always work late.” </em>
</p><p>“Was that Phil?” Tommy hadn't even noticed that Techno had left, there was a blanket on him and a pillow cushing his head. Techno was microwaving some popcorn, Tommy had totally forgotten that he promised Techno that they were going to watch a movie together.</p><p>“Yes, that was Phil. Said he’ll be late.”</p><p>Those labyrinths that needed to be escaped out of? There was more than one.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Edema</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>About four years ago, before the labyrinths and the insanity, there were days when the sun felt warm and bright, and the songs of birds were melodies rather than dirges. The first scent of London rain still hung in the air from the previous night’s storm, and the family of four was the happiest he ever remembered them to be. Tommy was in Wilbur’s room trying to play his guitar but failing since he was still new, Wilbur walked in and saw the smaller boy struggling, the brunette chuckled and sat down next to his brother, “here.”</p><p>He took the guitar and placed it on his lap, a few strums and he began to make a small tune. Tommy watched in awe at the mesmerising scene in front of him, the way it looked like Wilbur’s hands weren’t even moving as he plucked at the chords, no wonder Tommy wanted to learn so much, it looked like magic. He remembered the melody.</p><p>Now though, the rays shined in through the window, masking Tommy’s vision with red and amber tones. It was intrusive. He had another one of those damn dreams, the ones that just won't leave the poor boy alone. It was Wilbur again, and the fond times they shared all rushed back into Tommy’s head and left him dazed, and left him on the verge of another breakdown. He struggled to not cry out. </p><p>The smell of fresh eggs hung in the air as breakfast was placed in front of Tommy. He forced a smile and started eating. Tommy was thankful he didn't have to go to school because of the current situation the family was in.</p><p>Techno was cleaning the dishes when there was a knock at the door, the pink-haired man opened it to see Toby—or Tubbo—and let the boy in.</p><p>“Tubbo, What’re you doing here?” Tommy questioned.</p><p>“Stopping by to see if you were all right. I know you aren’t doing well with what’s been happening and you’re under a lot of stress so I came to cheer you up, big man!”</p><p>“Well that’ll be a waste, I’m afraid. Kid’s been in the swamps for the past few days.” Techno moved back around the corner and was yelling with a fake ‘dad voice.’</p><p>Tommy was genuinely happy to see Tubbo again. “What’s that?” He pointed to the tickets Tubbo was holding.</p><p>“Tickets to the fair, big man! Got ‘em for half a quid… times eight… or is it sixteen?”</p><p>“The fair?”</p><p>“The fair, big man! What? You always liked the rollercoasters, right? The rollercoasters need us!”</p><p>Tommy smirked and mouthed the word ‘fine’ then went up to get ready. He tried to not remember the last time they went there, but it was a good escape. The kind he needed just to get his mind straight. Tubbo was loyal as a fine friend anyone could have. In brighter days Tommy had called him something far more vulgar, but purely out of the sincerity of his friendship. He knew how to put fun first, and while that’s not always called for, it was a good escape, it was a much-needed escape. Although it was not customary to go to the fair with any specific attire, Tommy preferred the change. He wanted to get out of the <em> Slayer </em> T-shirt he was wearing, the one he had borrowed from Wilbur ages ago when he attended one of Wil’s jamming sessions at the recording-studio. They were testing one of Wil’s new friend’s vocalisation skills. It was the first time Tommy had seen them perform, even if it was just a test-run and they were doing (pretty amateur) covers of classical rock songs. It was an utter disaster, imagine a couple of North Londoners trying to do heavy-metal! And not even the good underground sort either. Wil’s friends had kept Tommy around because he had brought their new digicam with him, and was recording the entire session. He had fond memories with that <em> Slayer </em> shirt, and he was probably still wearing it unconsciously after his last visit to Wil.</p><p>He thought it was therapeutic to get it off and throw it across his bed, back in his room. He cluttered through his hangers to see if there was something with less triggers. There was the Hamilton t-shirt, but it was again too much of Wil’s memories attached. There was the Ozzy Osbourne shirt, but again that was Will in it. The jeans? They were bloody Wil’s! That’s kind of what happens when you’re the teenage kid brother in a family with older siblings—even when clothes aren’t hand-me-downs, they’re mostly gifts or worse: They were bought for you!</p><p>Tommy threw on an old stone blue Piqué polo shirt with the white buttons up, a pair of dark-navies for hsi jeans, and his white Reeboks before stepping out. Only the most sophisticated, Tubbo among them, wore their clothes ‘ordinary’ when going to the fair.</p><p>Before they left however, Tommy checked in with Techno who offered: “Cutting down on the annotations I see.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s a good look on you. Wil’s old clothes—best to not let those memories get to you. Don’t be late, there’s change at the counter if you need it!”</p><p>Techno was more caring about him than Phil was, and a part of Tommy wondered whether or not to tell him how every single thing was a Wilbur-annotation, as far as Tommy was concerned. He needed this time with Tubbo, as loyal as he was, Tubbo knew how to provide those distractions even from the mundane.</p><p>When the two boys ventured out the first thing that struck Tommy was just how blinding the sun felt. It wasn’t warm or welcoming, it was bright. They had been to the fair before, and Tommy was a bit put back by all the noise and people but got used to it soon enough. There was a giant Ferris wheel at the center, marking a sort of monumental mid-level point for the maze; a few medium-level rollercoasters; and an old-fashioned game center for claw-machines and Evel Knieval pinball machines. </p><p>The two walked up to one of the rollercoasters, got their tickets and climbed on and waited for a bit once everyone got on. A bell rang and they started moving, slowly but surely they went up the first dive.</p><p>The ride went up to the highest point then dove fast downwards, the screams and the laughs were drowned out as suddenly Tommy’s ears refused to work. Every noise, every sound, was gone but for a soft and reassuring buzzing that rung up as his heart thundered against the speed. The high drop was the only thing Tommy could see. For a while, that was the only thing that mattered. It was like being carried off and swept, and being out of control for just a while that whipped the wind through through his golden hair, swishing it across. The force of the drop and sent Tommy’s hair flying backwards and it felt <em> amazing </em>. The worries stopped. And for what felt like the first time…</p><p>...Tommy laughed.</p><p>When they got down, the world was still floating and everything spun round and round. Through the shakes and laughter, Tommy realised it felt like he had just gone from the biggest high ever. But, like in a good way, the adrenaline pounded and thundered and they started moving again for the next drop and it all came for round two.</p><p>That’s what it felt like: That’s what the maze was. That’s how you escape, thought Tommy. You let go. The same force, the same bussing, the same spinning. It was exhilarating.</p><p>They rode a few more rides and had gotten some cotton candy before hitting the luncheon. They had done everything they could think of, then there was the Ferris wheel, the two sat on the block of metal underneath them, there could be a few stars seen because of the pollution, it was still beautiful anyway, the two best friends laughed and joked with each other,it was a dream—but the dreadfulness of real was pushed back even for a little while.</p><p>The night was still young as the boys decided to hop over to the local market and bought some random things none of them needed but both wanted.</p><p>It was getting late and the two were tired. Tubbo went over with Tommy to drop him off and as the taller of the two opened the door to Tommy’s home, he was the first to see a distressed Techno and a panicking Phil.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Wilbur…” they both said in unison.</p><p>Wilbur happened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Gunshot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was warm and sunny outside and the spring air was crisp and fresh, kids were playing outside, adults were chatting and drinking, and Tommy was getting bored, as usual.</p><p>He walked around aimlessly looking for something, anything to do, Tommy guessed luck wasn't on his side that day because he was left empty handed, then he remembered that he had a brother that he had all the time in the world to mess around with.</p><p>The blonde boy waltzed over happily to where he knew his brother was. He was in the garage. Once Tommy had passed by the numerous adults and children, he made his way back to the garage, which was somehow void of anyone except for the inside. </p><p>He knew people must have been in there from the muffled noises emanating from within. He wandered closer and closer until he was right up against the large door: It was unlocked, Tommy with all of his strength—which was not much—pulled up the heavy door.</p><p>He froze, and held his mouth agape when he saw something he thought could only be seen in movies. The sight was horrifying and most morbid: The once clean garage was soaked in blood and other vile liquids; the power tools, that were once used to fix the car when it wouldn't quite cooperate, were now basking in crimson. </p><p>The screaming, the blood, the organs, the dead body and the terrified boy who happened to have walked in at a very wrong time.</p><p>The man he had once called a friend, a brother, a companion was staring at him with wide eyes and a scared expression painted on his usually warm and comforting features. The man’s already weakened mental state had worsened, any bit of sanity he had left was torn apart. He tightened his grip on the knife he was holding and charged at the boy with reckless abandon. </p><p>What happened next was like a dream, a horrible and frankly painful dream. That was 3 weeks ago. During the course of those weeks, the memory remained loud and fired itself when he least expected it. Like bullets in his head. </p><p>The car ride to the hospital was agonising, every moment they wasted on the road meant another second of pain for Wilbur. Tommy wanted nothing more than to just hug his brother and tell everything was going to be okay because even though all the man did was cause pain, Tommy still knew him as his brother and didn't want to see him get hurt anymore than he already was.</p><p>Tommy's vision began to blur, he felt sick and dizzy, the stress was getting to him. The moving car plus the dizzy, sick, feeling was making the blonde nauseous. He tried not to gag.</p><p>Techno’s reassuring hand firmly gripped his shoulder. Techno embraced Tommy and handed him a bottle of cold water in an effort to calm the boy down. To reassure him everything was going to be fine, even if it wasn't. It wasn't going to be fine. </p><p>Tommy softly cried against Techno’s large frame; Techno was much bigger than Wil and Tommy; his long rosy hair was soft to the touch, as it engulfed Tommy into its sweet strawberry scent. His big brother was here and he was going to goddamn make sure Tommy was okay, even if it was the last thing he did. </p><p>Tommy didn't even notice that the car had stopped until Techno pulled away to get out. The large man held out a hand to Tommy who was wiping away his tears. The blonde’s feet hit the ground as Techno let the boy climb on his back, since he couldn't properly stand with his teary-eyed and dizzied state. The boy’s face dove itself into Techno’s hair and softly whimpered. Tommy would have fallen asleep again if Techno didn't place him down on a very uncomfortable  seat. But it wasn't Techno’s fault that all the seats were shit.</p><p>He opened his eyes to see Phil and Techno at the front desk. This was the same one he was at, not too long ago. They were speaking but the buzzing was back so Tommy couldn't understand any of the conversation. He didn't quite care though, he was tired, he was scared, he just wanted Wilbur back.</p><p>Techno sat next to him and let the blonde again lean on his shoulder. The presence of his brother calmed the teen, he knew they couldn't see Wilbur just yet because it wasn't visiting hours, so Tommy let his eyes shut and drifted off to sleep.</p><p>Wilbur, Wilbur was there, he was fine, he looked like himself, and he was just as warm as he was before everything. The brown haired man walked towards Tommy with open arms, the teen had never run so fast in his life, Wilbur smelt like mint and chocolates. Warmth radiated from the man, Wilbur’s soft arms hugged the teen, his brother was here, he was okay, everything was okay, Tommy was okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>shout out to my brother who helped me write this :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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